


Family Matters, and What Happened When...

by Axismundix



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fun, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axismundix/pseuds/Axismundix
Summary: I really enjoy the cute romance of Josephine. So here is random bits of how i see my Male Warrior Trevelyan's life going. Fitting in with the Family theme with my other Dragon Age Inquisition stories. :)





	1. Family Matters

“All rise and pay heed!” Even through the great wooden door he stood behind Tyne could hear the herald calling across the main hall of Skyhold’s main keep. “His worship, The Herald of Andraste herself, the Inquisitor, Tyne Trevelyan, is come to pronounce his Righteous Judgment!”

 

Taking a moment to roll his eyes, as well as make a very dramatic sigh, Tyne nodded to the guard standing next to the door. A guard, who, at this moment, had a smirk on his face. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyne sighed again. “Laugh it up Nelson. Maybe you’ll be as amused at the front gate with your brother, Doderick?”

 

“You wouldn’t!” Nelson gasped as he opened the door. “He may be my brother, but he’s still a twit.”

 

“Well, then. Nick me a couple sweetrolls tonight, and we call it even,” Tyne winked as he tapped the guard on the chest with the back of his hand.

 

Nelson couldn’t help but chuckle as he nodded. “Anything for the High Inquisitor.”

 

With a third sigh, Tyne Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition, stepped into the main hall, just to the side of the large, opulent, and, to his eyes anyway, overly gaudy throne. Andraste, how he hated the thing….

 

Walking slowly and in, he hoped at least, a somewhat regal fashion. It was a bit difficult to do dressed as he was. What with the blue sash crossing the deep red dress shirt. The black pants with that same red in the form of a stripe down the side of the legs. Heavy black boots, with the too high heel. Even carrying the stupid bastard sword that had the dragon wrapped around the hilt, it’s bare blade resting on his right shoulder. He hated all that crap too.

 

About the only thing that made any of this worth it was standing in front of him, and to the right of the throne itself.    
  


Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet. Ambassador for the Inquisition. And Tyne’s greatest love. Even more than sweetrolls.

 

“Inquisitor,” Josie smiled slightly, a movement that only he, most likely, could see. In her hands, like usual, was her, rather ingenious, in his opinion, small board. It held her small pot of ink, the usual small red candle that smelled slightly of elderberries, and that little metal clip that held a rather ungodly amount of stacked paper. He hated that part though.

 

“Dearest,” Tyne muttered quietly as he winked at his lover, and was rewarded by her lowering her head as she attempted to fight off a true full smile. And the slight blush his words had brought forth. 

 

Opening his mouth to say more, Tyne was cut off as the herald’s booming voice echoed through the chamber again. “In Andraste’s name! We ask for righteous and true Judgment! Punishment for the wicked! Mercy for the innocent!”

 

Once again, Tyne sighed as he slightly shook his head. “Blow hard,” he muttered.

 

“Now, now,” Josie whispered as she stepped closer. “The man is just doing his job. Dearest.”

 

Her words, as always, brought a smile to his face as he turned to the assembled crowd in the hall and held aloft the Sword of the Inquisition. “You always know the right things to say, Josie,” he said quietly as he turned slightly and slid the Sword home, into the sheath built into the front of the right arm of the throne.

 

“I know,” Josie smirked.” I  _ am _ your Ambassador, your Worship.”

 

Turning again, Tyne sat himself gingerly down. As impressive as the throne was to spectators, it left a bit to be desired for the bum.

 

“Remind me to see in Dagna can come up with some sort of cushion for this damn thing,” Tyne grimaced slightly as he tried to adjust himself. “I’m not sure how many people I have sentenced to prison just to get out of this thing faster…”

 

His, rather poor, joke was rewarded with a small giggle from Josephine, as she held up her board to partially hide her smile from the crowd. “You’re  _ awful _ !” she laughed.

 

“You love it,” Tyne shot back, not bothering to hide his own smile.

 

“I do,” Josie acknowledged. “Now...shall we get to business?”

 

\--------------------------------------------

Many, many, Hours Later….(to Tyne)

 

“And….” Josephine started but paused, turning to Tyne with a slight frown. “This last one is….a bit...unusual….”

 

Tyne, at this point, had slid partially down in the seat, his rear numb. His chin sat on his fist, his elbow on the right arm of the throne. “Is it?” he said, perking up. “I could use something interesting.”

 

“Yes, your Worship,” Josie nodded as she stared at her board. “This one is...well…” Looking up, she gestured forward as the prisoner was brought before the Throne.

 

The man was large. Tyne, himself, was taller than average, and was well muscled, if not overly bulky like his father, back in Ostwick was. But this man. This man stood head and shoulders above the guards on either side of him. His muscular build looked as if he could shrug off the chains anytime he wished to.

 

The other thing that really stood out on the man was the impressive hood he wore. The goat skin had holes cut for his eyes and a large set of ram horns attached to the sides.

 

With a small shake of her head, Josephine cleared her throat and turned more the the hall as she raised her voice. “After you returned from the bog, we discovered this man Avvar Chieftain, Morvan the Under...attacking the castle….with...a...goat….” As she spoke Josie’s voice slowly got more and more uncertain, finally stopping as she stared at the chained man.

 

“Wait…” Tyne held a hand up and he sat up fully in the throne. “Did you say...a goat?”

 

“Heh heh…” Morvan man chuckled. “This pageantry is unnecessary. My idiot son challenged you, against what he had been told. And his death was answered in the traditional way. Smacking your holdings with goat’s blood. Either way, I shall take his sin, to clear my clan. Make your pronouncement, Inquisitor.” 

 

Tyne sat for a moment and looked at the man. Morvan stood, a grin on his face, his posture oddly relaxed for a man that clearly expected to die. But then...Tyne had an idea…

 

“Tyne…” Josephine whispered harshly. “You’re making that smile! Nothing good comes from that smile! Stop it!”

 

“Now, now, Josephine,” Tyne spoke loudly as he stood, still looking at the Avvar man. “There are times when I am...inspired.” Turning his head to look at her, Tyne gave Josie a small wink. “Trust me.”

 

For a moment Josephine stood, her brows drawn into a straight line, and her lips firmly pressed equally straight. “No,” she half growled.

 

Ignoring the love of his life, as well as his probable demise, Tyne took a step forward and scowled darkly. “Chief Morvan the Under. I sentence you and your clan into exile, north, to Tervinter.” Then, pausing for dramatic effect, Tyne then grinned. “With as many weapons as you can carry.”

 

“HA HA HA!” Morvan laughed loudly over the shocked silence of the Great Hall. “So, my idiot son got us something useful after all.” Then, with a nod to the Inquisitor, Morvan grinned back. “As you command, my clan and I will accept your merciful exile, to become beggars along the road north.”

 

With a solemn nod, Tyne stepped down fully in front of the man and unlocked his manacles himself. “I just have to say. I do hope you don’t intend to travel through the Jorlund Pass. I here it might be lousy with vermin.”

 

Rubbing his wrists, Morvan nodded, his face a mask of false concern. “Indeed, I shall keep your advice in mind.”

 

And with that, the official Judgment had ended for the month.

 

Except….

 

“Now...your  _ Worship _ ….”Josephine’s cold voice cut through Tyne’s jubilant attitude. “If you would take your  _ seat _ . We can begin hearing the concerns of the commoners.”

 

Slowly Tyne turned to face his love and his doom, his smile dying on his lips. “Now...Josie….” he started quietly.

 

“Don’t you ‘Josie’ me!” she snapped, equally quiet. “Sit!” she demanded pointing to the ill padded throne.

 

“Yes, dearest….” Tyne muttered as she sat, gingerly. And from the corner of his eye, he saw Josephine holding her board up slightly, hiding her small smile, and slight blush.

 

\-------------------------------------

Days later (to Tyne) Or, maybe hours (in Actuality)

 

“Alright...farmer Backer receives the meat of one pig to compensate him for the loss of his….” Tyne paused as he sat with the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers, and his elbows resting on his knees. “...What was it again?” Tyne asked, glancing up at a nearly equally haggard Josephine.

 

“Beets, your Worship,” she answered with a quiet sigh.

 

“Right, to compensate for the loss of his beets,” Tyne leaned back in the chair as he made his pronouncement.

 

“Thank you, Inquisitor!” the farmer, Baker said as he left the hall, followed shortly by the more irritated looking man who owned the pigs.

 

“Anymore?” Tyne asked, looking up at Josie, a desperate look in his eye.

 

With a smile, Josephine shook her head. “No, your Worship. That was the last, now we can-”

 

“HOLD!” a voice bellowed through the hall. “I have a grievance!”

 

“No...no way…” Tyne gasped in disbelief as his wide eyes stared at a nearly equally surprised Josephine.

 

Slowly, both Tyne and Josephine turned to see a large bear of a man, his thick dark black hair more than a match for even Blackwall, marching through a gap the crowd quickly made for him. And following in his wake was a slight woman, maybe five feet at the most, with long golden hair that nearly touched the ground, if not for the ornate braid around her head, similar to the one Cassandra wore.

 

And behind them….was nearly the entire Trevelyan family.

 

“I would like to know why I have to hear, from your Uncle Phillipe, of all blasted people, that you had a duel in the streets of Val Royeaux?” George, Bann of the Ostwick, father to the Inquisitor, bellowed. 

 

“Husband,” the small blonde woman, Tyne’s mother, Marigold, spoke quietly to her husband, lightly touching him on the arm.

 

“Right,” George grumbled clearing his throat while giving his tiny wife a leery look, before turning a dark gaze back to his son. “And your poor mother,” he gestured to Marigold, who stood, her eyes downcast, a small handkerchief held to her eye. “Why is your poor mother hearing how you failed to inform her of your marriage to an Antivan woman?!”

 

Now, Tyne had slid down in the throne, and had propped his head on his fist, right until the last sentence. Then he sat bolt upright and stared at Josephine, only to see her stare back, her eyes as wide as he had ever seen them, and her board, clutched to her chest, almost to the point of knocking off her candle stub.

 

“Father, mother,” Tyne scrambled as he turned back to his parents. “ We haven’t marri-”

 

“What is this I hear?!” Another male voice shouted out over the crowd. This voice, however, had a rather thick Antivan accent, far more pronounced than Josephine’s. “Some miscreant had wedded my daughter without my, or my own, poor wife’s knowledge!?”

 

Through the new gap in the crowd, a man slightly below average height emerged. His swarthy skin and receding, yet deep black hair proclaimed him, indeed, Antivan, but it was the light of intelligence in his eye as he twirled his rather impressive, mustache, that truly made it clear he was Josephine’s father, Yves Montilyet.

 

Behind him, was a regal looking woman, taller than her husband stepped forward, a black veil over her eyes. “Truly,  I come to hear of a brute who had stolen away my eldest daughter, and sweeping her to this forlorn mountain, imprisoning her. Now...now to hear he has wedded her?” With her proclamation, the woman, Daniela, turned away, falling into her husband’s arms, even as the man shot Tyne a murderous glare.

 

Blinking, Tyne turned slightly to see Josephine taking a half step forward, her hand reaching out slightly, a shocked and horrified look on her beautiful face.

 

“Oh...what a terrible..thing...that has happened...before us all. My poor...poor..sister hath been...ruined,” A small woman, stepped forward now, laying a hand upon Josephine’s mother. Tyne knew that voice, though the last time he had heard it had been behind a mask . And her face was so similar to Josephine’s that it almost looked like a smaller younger version of the woman he loved.

 

“Really, dear?” Josephine’s mother sighed and stood up, shaking her head at Yvette. “We spent all that money on acting lessons, and this is what you can do? I dare say we got swindled….” the woman sniffed, this time in disdain.

 

George turned and chuckled. “It’s probably for the best. I’m pretty sure much more and the two of them might have had heart attacks.”

 

“Now, now,” Marigold said, her voice cheerful and bright, as it always was. “We’ve had our fun. Now, maybe we could adjourn to someplace private for a...conversation.” The last word was spoken with the chilling finality of death itself as Marigold’s delicate brow furrowed in a murderous glare.

 

“Indeed, let us,” Daniela agreed. Her voice and expression equally as terrifying as Marigold’s

 

“Oh…” Tyne started as he looked at Josephine.

 

“...shit…” Josie finished, terror in her eyes as she looked back at Tyne.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

The mood was festive. Servants moved around the...well...honestly, Tyne wasn’t sure he had ever been in this room before. It was like a study...except it was far too large. It wasn’t a meeting hall, too small for that. But the furnishings were all lush, velvets and satins on the pillows and covering the thick, padded couches and chairs. Warm blankets sat in various places to help ward off the cold oh the mountain stronghold, assuming that the large fireplace didn’t take care of it. The thing took up half of the interior wall. Even the rugs, think and from...again...Tyne had no clue. They were just fancy.

 

At least the servants were the normal people he was used to. Thom, Kella, Drumm….the usual lot. Except they seemed to be wearing their better uniforms. The ones designated for visiting higher dignitaries. And they moved around the room quickly and efficiently as always. Except they carried flasks of spiced wine, or warm brandy. Drumm seemed to have a small tray with various finger foods upon it. Four or five different types…. And Tyne was mentally babbling. 

 

Currently, the Inquisitor stood with his elbow on the mantle of the large fireplace as he slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was also trying to will this entire situation away. Maybe as some sort of dream from the Fade? An assault by Corypheus was probably not going to happen and save him at any moment either….

 

“So…” A melodic, sing song voice came from over his shoulder. “How is my little brother doing?”

 

Violet. His sister was two years older than he was, and the heir to the Bannorn of Ostwick. And his dark nemesis. She was still single, even at twenty four, and not for lack of beauty. Even Tyne, begrudgingly, had to admit that. She was tall, not quite six feet, and her hair was a pitch black like her father’s unruly mane. Luckily for Violet, she had received a more manageable cascading wave from her mother. Her eyes matched her hair, deep, dark and piercing. Always looking for any flaws in her brother that she could exploit.

 

Without looking up, Tyne sighed. “Vi….could you just push me into the fire here, and be done with it? Please?”

 

With a rich laugh,Violet dropped a hand on her brother’s shoulder as she shook her head. “Why would I do something like that?” she asked, her wide grin promised much more suffering for him this evening. 

 

“Yeah…” Tyne finally looked up. “That would be a rare kindness. Not exactly something you are known for.” Then, slowly, Tyne looked Violet up and down, noting how she was wearing leather pants and boots. The thick grey tunic, left almost halfway open did absolutely nothing to mask her more...feminine...charms. Which, for Violet, was pretty much normal. The only real surprise was her lack of sword on her wide belt.

 

At his pause, Violet's eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re thinking something rude, aren’t you?” she accused, stabbing a finger into Tyne’s chest.

 

“What? No!” Tyne assured his sister as he rubbed the place Violet had jabbed him. “I was not noting how you are still unmarried, have no prospects, and dress like a well to do stable boy.”

 

Violet’s eyes blazed with a sudden anger as she took a half step forward and raised her fist. Luckily, for Tyne, whatever attack, verbal or physical was cut short as his Great-Aunt Lucille approached the pair. 

 

Lucille had that look of a woman that could be anywhere from sixty years old to a hundred and twenty and nobody would really be able to tell. As she approached the siblings, Tyne noted that, despite her age, she still stood tall, her back was ramrod straight and her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence. Or malice. It was often hard to tell with Lucille. Her hair was snowy white and intricately braided and spiraled into a bun nearly the size of the head it was atop of. The bun itself was held in place with several strategically placed hairpins and combs. Two of them, Tyne noted, were ones he had sent her, himself.

 

It was Lucille’s dress that really drew the eye, however. It was in the charcoal grey and red of the Inquisition’s colors, cut into a dress that even Vivienne would be impressed by. And was probably the latest trend in Orlais. Even at her age, Lucille was always on top. She could probably even give Leliana tips on gathering information.

 

“Great-Aunty!” Tyne called out warmly as he opened his arms and stepped away from his vengeful sister. “I’m so happy you could come and visit!”

 

“Stow it,” Lucille furrowed her brow into the kind of frown that could probably turn a person to stone, if she unleashed it’s full power. “I heard the full report of your dealings at the Winter Palace.”

 

For a moment, Tyne was taken aback, as well as more than slightly terrified. His knuckles throbbed in memory of Aunt Lucille’s etiquette lessons. “I...uh...well, it’s like…” he stammered, unable to look away from the older woman, lest she rip him limb from limb. Verbally. Probably. He hoped….

 

“Yes well,” Lucille sniffed. “As I understand it, you uncovered a spy ring, found the evidence to prove Gaspard’s planning of a coup attempt, Venatori intending to release demons, and even patched things up between Celene and Briala? Oh, and apparently danced possibly with Floriane. Does that about sum it up?”

 

“Well...yes, that is about it, I think….” Tyne nodded as he straightened his doublet. He also noted how his Aunt failed to use any of the titles owned by the people she mentioned. “Except the fight to the death with Grand Duchess Florian at the courtyard fountain.”

 

‘Ah...yes,” Lucille nodded slightly, before pausing and tapping a small folding fan against her chin. “I suppose you get a passing grade then, my dear.” Lucille then smiled as she stepped forward and beckoned Tyne down. “Come, come, give an old woman some help.” As Tyne leaned down, Lucille kissed him lightly on the cheek.

 

“All in all Aunty,” Tyne smiled as he stood back up. “I probably would never have survived the evening without all the things you ham...er..” Tyne stopped and swallowed at the ghost of a look that passed over Lucille’s face. “I mean...that you taught me, so carefully.”

 

“Yes, of course, dear. One has to be prepared for the Game,” Lucille smirked with a wink. “They play for keeps in Val Royeaux. Not like the little chitterings like back in the Free Marches.”

 

Tyne frowned and opened his mouth to say something about his Grand-Aunt playing the Game, but then thought better of it. “Yes, yes,” Tyne decided to switch tracks. “If it wasn’t for what you taught me, and Josephine, I can’t imagine I would have succeeded with half of what I managed.”

 

“Ah!” Came the call from behind him, as Violet found her moment to pounce. “Yes! Dear brother!” Violet stepped next to Tyne and draped her arm over his shoulder as she paused, fighting, and failing, to stop the smirk from erupting across her face. “Do tell us of your adventures with the fetching Lady Josephine Montilyet!” 

 

As she spoke, Violet’s voice gradually got louder until it carried over the entire room, both silencing the party as well as drawing the attention of every person present. Even the serving staff. Much to Tyne’s dismay.

 

“Yes, indeed,” Josephine’s father, Yves agreed, stepping out of the gathering and twirling his moustache. “I would very much enjoy hearing about the duel that was fought over my daughter’s hand. With the individual that had been arranged for her to wed, no less.”

 

“Ummm…” Tyne said, eloquently as he slowly backed away, only to find himself trapped by the fireplace. Which he considered escaping into.. “I..uh…” 

 

“Father, we will have none of  _ that _ ,” Josephine said firmly as she stepped next to her love’s side. “If you truly wish to go that route, we could always have the conversation as to  _ when _ , exactly this betrothal was made. Hmm?” 

 

Yves blinked once before shrinking back slightly. “Ah, but Josie, you see….”

 

“But, nothing!” Josephine snapped, stepping forward stiffly and raising a finger into her father’s rather pale face. “I distinctly recalling you telling me that you would  _ never _ arrange for your daughters to wed. ‘Love should bloom true, from Andraste’s grace. Not forced by the hands of men.’ Yes?” Josephine almost growled as she stepped forward once more, following her fleeing father. “Those were your  _ exact _ words, were they not?”

 

“Ah…” Yves stammered as he looked to his wife and other daughter for assistance, only to find cold stares. “I..I just wanted to be sure you were taken care of!” he exclaimed. “You are getting to the age where...your...umm….” Yves slowly stopped talking as he realized just what he had said. “Ah…”

 

Josephine stood stock still. Her face was held in the scowl as it was before, her hand still extended in front of her as she was pointing under her father’s chin. Except now her eyes seemed to have lost focus as her hand slowly curled into a fist.

 

Tyne saw the clenching of Josephine’s jaw, the subtle shift of her weight. He saw the little flexes of her muscles.

 

“Well, moving onto other subjects,” Tynen spoke, loudly as he stepped next to his love and took her fist into his hand, pulling it to his mouth and giving it a light kiss.

 

The transformation was immediate. Subtle, yet obvious to the spectators, as Josephine turned slightly in Tyne’s direction. A light blush faintly touched her cheeks as a gentle smile touched her lips. As the tension left her entire body, her eyes light with an internal glow. 

 

“I….,” Josephine started before her mind caught up to the situation. “ *ahem*, Yes, Lord Inquisitor. That would probably be best.”

 

“Okay, that is just too sappy fo….” Violet’s voice started before a quiet smack was heard.”Mother!’

 

“Shut up, Vi.”

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------

 

The Great Dining Hall

 

As the servants collected up the soup bowls,Tyne leaned back in his chair and let his eyes roam over the people seated around the table.

 

As the Lord of the manor, Tyne had naturally been seated at the head of the table, in a rather overly large and gaudy chair.  _ At least this one is somewhat comfortable…. _

 

To his left sat the Trevelyan family, Violet to his immediate hand, followed by his father, mother, Great-Aunt, then, at the end, his younger siblings.

 

To his right, the Montilyets sat, with Joshephine to his hand. Next to her sat her mother, then father, sister, brothers, and a small group of cousins he hadn’t noticed earlier. Though, in Tyne’s defense, a lot was going on.

 

So far, the talk during this meal had been entirely too….Neutral. ‘Oh, this set of forks is quite nice.’ ‘Say, this salad dressing is lovely.’ ‘I quite like this soup.’

 

Tyne didn’t trust it. Nor did he trust Violet’s wide smile, as her eyes flitted between Josephine and himself. There was a trap here someplace, he knew it.

 

“I think we have danced quite enough,” Auntie Lucile broke the small silence that had settled. “The children should have learned their lessons by now hmm?”

 

“I concur,” Josephine’s mother agreed as she placed her napkin on the table. In her seat, she turned slightly to face Tyne and Josephine, inclining her head slightly. “Do forgive our theatrics, Inquisitor. As you can imagine, we were not particularly pleased with our daughter running off to join a heretical movement….”

 

“Mother,” Josephine started before her mother raised a hand, quieting her.

 

“You can probably also guess our reaction when we recieved information on the incident in Haven. We were, of course, overjoyed to hear of your survival and the rise of Skyhold. However, the only reason we did not attempt to recall Josephine, was knowing of her works. Favors curried, strings pulled,” Daniella smiled warmly at her daughter, who, for her part blushed slightly as she looked down at the table.

 

“The deeds of yourself, and the Inquisition are already legendary,” Daniella continued. “Songs, poetry, books. All are being written and sung. We heard of the events of the Winter Palace, and our hearts swelled with pride.”

 

“We even received notice that the two of you, together, were able to reverse the Orlesian ruling, outlawing us to trade within the Empire. Though,” Daniella paused with a small smile. “I understand your efforts with the Judge was quite...Taxing?”

 

“Uh…” Tyne blushed heavily as he turned away, looking at the ceiling. The floor. His salad fork. Everyplace except Josephine's narrowed eyes.

 

“However,” Daniella spoke again, this time a certain amount of disapproval in her voice. “We also heard of our dutiful daughter, working to undermine my husband’s, however misguided, attempts to secure his daughter a comfortable future…”

 

“Really, now,” Yves huffed quietly, though coughed into his hand and turned away as Daniella’s eyes moved to him.

 

“We also, on the same day, mind you,” Daniella frowned slightly. “We received reports as to the Inquisitor himself, challenging Lord Otranto to a duel. For our daughter’s hand, no less. As romantic as the notion might be, we were more than a bit put out.”

 

Josephine turned to face her mother, her own face a mask of determination. “Mother, I love  you dearly. You and father both. And sort of Yvette.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“But I am an adult. I have been making decisions for the family and holding for many years, with no complaints from either you, or father. I have sacrificed time, blood and tears. But my Love. I  _ will _ choose whom I love, and whom I marry!”

 

“Josie,” Tyne’s voice was quiet, as he gently lay a hand over Josephine’s fist. “Your mother is expressing the concerns of a parent.”

 

Her head turning to regard Tyne, Josephine looked down at his hand. How it cradled hers. Then, slowly, her fingers relaxed and twined with his. “I...I do not take back my words,” she said, her tone calmer, but still filled with steel. “I will follow my heart in this. This is my one, selfish wish.”

 

“Oh, Josie!” Yves cried as he stood and rushed his daughter. His arms wrapped tightly around her as tears streamed openly down his face. “You’ve grown into such a wonderful, strong and proud woman! I can hardly believe you are the same little girl that came, teary eyed, to our room when it thundered, even at fourteen! I- *HOOF*”

 

“Nobody heard that,” Josephine said quietly as her father slowly off her fist, slumping to his knees. Yves’s arms wrapped around his midsection as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. 

 

“HA!” Violet burst out, slapping a her hand on the table. “She’s already a  perfect Trevelyan!

 

\---------------------------

 

After Main Course

 

As the servants placed small bowls of lemon scented water in front of each quest, with which to wash their hands, Tyne smiled.

 

After the slight unpleasantness in the beginning, both families now spoke openly with each other. Each side regaling the other with tales of fantastic deeds done by forbearers. Personal triumphs and childhood stories.

 

Even if some of those stories were at his expense.

 

“....And then he just, stood up. Covered head to toe in mud and muck,” Tyne’s father was almost standing as he gestured wildly. “And he looked right at Violet, then at me, and he says ‘Father. I think I may have lost my horse.’”

 

“He didn’t!” Josephine giggled, her hand over her mouth as she tried to contain her laughter.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Tyne sighed as he squeezed his love’s hand, lightly.

 

“I’m sorry my darling, I just…” Josie’s laughter died as she realized what she had said. 

 

“Oh, Josie,” Violet snickered. “You can call him ‘darling’, ‘dearest, or any of that lot. It is clear to anybody with a brain how ridiculously in love with each other you two are. Besides. We are all family here.”

 

Josephine sat still, her hand clasped tightly around Tynes as she stared, wide eyed at the grinning Trevelyn hier. Then, suddenly, tears filled her eyes as began to stream down her face. Slowly, Josephine rocked side to side as he voice hitched in her throat.

 

“Andraste’s knickers!” Violet cursed as she pushed her seat back from the table. “What did I say? Maker, whatever it was, I’m so sorry!”

 

Suddenly, heaving herself up, Josephine half walked, half ran around the table and grabbed Violet by the front of her tunic, pulling the startled, and, honestly, frightened woman to her feet.

 

Then, Josephine wrapped her arms around Violets body, her tears soaking into the rough fabric. “Thank you….thank you...thank you….” Josie squeezed out as she cried tears of happiness.

 

“Oh, Josie,” Violet smiled and wrapped the Antivan into a warm hug. 

 

\---------------------------

 

Later (after Josephine was calmer)

 

“So….I think I’ve held off long enough,” Tyne spoke loudly, as he set down his dessert fork. “How, exactly, did this whole scenario come about?”

 

“Why son, whatever do you mean?” Marigold smiled sweetly.  Honestly, Tyne’s mother could probably sharm Corypheus into surrendering. And probably get the Magister to apologize for the mess, and sweep up a little. 

 

Tyne, however, was not swayed. “Mother, there is no way that you, nor the Montilyet, should have met.”

 

“Oh, hardly,” Aunt Lucille scoffed. “Boy, you have been to my balls. You know the type of people I meet. I could have introduced you to more of the Orlesian court than young Josephine.  Or your spymaster. Whom I have met several times in the past.”

 

“Of course,” Danella nodded. “We are acquainted. You two clearly do not remember, but you have met before.”

 

“Well,” George shrugged. “You were both very little. There is almost no way you would remember.”

 

“Besides,” Yves chuckled. “When we heard about the goings on, you can bet we would have looked into the matter, as well as who the culprits were.”

 

“Yeah, my people came across the Montilyet people,” Violet shook her head ruefully. 

 

Flabbergasted, Tyne looked between each person. “So you got together and planned this confrontation?”

 

“Andraste no!” Yves laughed. “That part is pure coincidence!”

 

“What?” Josephine asked flatly. 

 

“Honest!” Yvette blurted out, unable to contain herself any longer. “We met up at the inn at the base of the mountain! The bit in the Hall was my idea!”

 

“Is that so?” Josephine’s voice took on a slight bladed tone.

 

“It was,” Danella nodded. “Yvette can be quite clever. Every now and again.”

 

“Well….that is good to know,” Josephine nodded, a promise of retaliation in her sharp gaze.

 

“Pardon me, sir,” Crem, one of Bull’s people approached. Tyne had seldom seen the man out of his armor, but now he sported an Inquisition cut formal uniform. “The preparations are finished.”

 

“Excellent!” Tyne grinned, clasping Crem’s shoulder. “We will be there in a moment. Try to make sure Sera and Bull don’t do anything….weird.”

 

“Yeah...right,” Crem snorted with a smirk. “I’m not the Maker, but I’ll see what I can do. And by the by, It’s about damn time.”

 

As Crem left, Tyne turned back to see Josephine looking at him with a puzzled expression. 

 

With a wink to her, Tyne stood slowly, while tapping a glass with a fork. However, nobody really seemed to notice.  _ Honestly _ , he grumbled to himself.  _ I always thought that was stupid anyway. _

 

“Hey!” Tyne called out, this time gathering the attention of the gathered people. “As you are all here, I would like to adjourn to the main hall. It is short notice, but I have prepared a little something to make up for my social indiscretion in Val Royeax.”

 

\------------------------

 

When the Inquisition arrived, they knew the Main Hall would be the political as well as social center of Skyhold, if not the Inquisition as a whole. 

 

With that in mind, the workers paid loving, and careful attention to detail while rebuilding the Hall. From the brilliant stained glass to the delicate carving on the buttresses, to the finely polished wood ot the railings.

 

The Hall itself was a massive room. Dozens of people gathered each month to witness the Inquisitor’s Judgements. Groups of diplomats, socialites and other dignitaries regularly gathered her with room to spare.

 

Now, however, the Hall was filled to beyond capacity. Humans, dwarves and elves. Nobles, and commoners. Catra, and Orzammar representatives. Dailish and City elves. They all pressed together. They filled the floor, the balconies. A few daring people even sat on the rafters.

 

As The Trevelyn and Montilyet families entered the Hall, the low murmur of people quieted into a near dead silence.

 

Taken aback, both families looked at each other, confused as guards quietly escorted them to the steps of the central dias, and to each side of the Throne.

 

Behind the Throne itself stood the Companions. The Inquisition’s inner council. Those individuals that stood shoulder to shoulder with the Inquisitor and shed blood, sweat and tears with Josephine.

 

Now they stood, all dressed in the Inquisition's formal uniform. Each crisp and straight, even Sera, and Cole’s. And each of them smiling broadly.

 

“Tyne…” Josephine said quietly, as if afraid her voice would echo through the silent chamber. “What is going on?”

 

In answer, Tyne gently took her hand, and led her to the center of the dias, before the Dragon Maw Throne. 

 

There he stood, and clasped both of her hands in his own as he smiled a gentle loving smile. “I’m a little sorry to put you on the spot, Josephine,” he said quietly, only for her. 

 

Incomprehension on her face, Josephine glanced at the filled Hall, then at their friends before looking back to Tyne. “I am a little worried….” she admitted with a weak smile. “What are you….”

 

Then it dawned on her. Slowly, Josephine’s eyes grew wide as Tyne stepped back from he and, still holding her hands, lowered himself to one knee before her.

 

“Josephine,” Tyne spoke loudly, his strong voice echoing through the Hall. “You are the spark that lit the flames of my heart. Before you, I was nothing. Without you, I am less than nothing. I fought the darkness in this world for one thing. For one reason. For one person. For your smile, I shall push back the mountains. For a kind word, I shall part the seas. For your love, I will bring you the stars. And for the honor of taking me as your husband, I shall give you all that I am. All that I was. And all that I ever will be.”

 

For a long moment, Josephine simply stood. Her eyes wide, and her mouth slightly open in shock. Then, stepping forward, she sank to her own knee, bringing Tyne’s hands, clasped firmly in her own, up to her chest, she stared into his eyes for another long moment.

 

Then, like the sun breaking the dawn, slowly a smile spread across Josephine’s face. “My Lord Inquisitor,” her voice, just as strong as Tyne’s, broke the silence. “My heart. My Love.There is nothing that could keep me from you. I will take you as my husband. Together we shall make a new dawn, as one.”

 

A roar, a cheer of joy, and happiness filled the hall. Hats were tossed in the air. Hands struck another’s back. A fairy tale had begun. This time, for real.


	2. The Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one should come before the Family Matters chapter, but I wrote that first and don't feel like moving things around.

“I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea,” The Iron Bull sighed as he and the Inquisitor worked their way through the crowds of Val Royeau. Of course, it helped that the crowds pretty well parted for the pair. Well, okay, they parted for  _ him _ .

 

“You didn’t have to come,” Tyne shot back. His face was like a thundercloud as he strode purposely next to Bull.  Purposely enough, in fact, that Bull didn’t have to slow his stride so that the small legs on the human could keep up.

 

“Right, Boss, like you coming out here to do this alone would be an even better idea,” Bull rolled his eyes. Or, well. Eye.

 

“I could have brought somebody else.”

 

“Yeah? Who?”

 

“...”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Hmph,” Tyne hmphed. “I bet Varric would have come. He would have loved it. Probably write a story about it. Or Vivienne. She probably knows all the tricks. Maybe she could find the loopholes so that I won by default. Even without fighting.”

 

Bull was silent for a moment before smirking. “Cassandra would have hit you over the head and tied you to a chair. Solas would probably lecture you about something elfy. Sera would cheat….”

 

Tyne made a small face then sighed. “Yeah...Cassandra is going to be  _ pissed _ .”

 

“Yeah, don’t think any of them are going to be pleased, Boss,” Bull nodded. “How do you think Josephine is going to react?”

 

“She will swoon, fall into my arms and swear undying love for me?” Tyne looked up hopefully.

 

“Right. Doubt it,” Bull crushed his small desperate dreams.

 

“Leiliana knows,” Tyne looked away petulantly.

 

Bull gave Tyne a look. “Of course she does. She knows everything.”

 

“She seemed...bemused,” Tyne sighed. “Pretty sure she knows how Josie is going to react, but is letting me tie my own noose.”

 

“Then why-”

 

“Because I  _ have _ to do  _ something _ !” Tyne exploded coming to an abrupt stop. “I can’t just sit around and wait for Josie to ‘figure something out’! The sheer….idea. That she could marry somebody else….Grrahh!” Tyne slammed his fist into a nearby pole, and almost bringing down the wall of a merchant’s stall.

 

“That hurt,” Tyne mumbled to himself as he shook his hand. 

 

Bull smirked and shook his head. “Probably not the greatest idea there, Boss. Breaking your hand before the big duel and all.”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“Anyway,” Bull continued. “Are you saying that if she chose to marry the guy, you would still be here?”

 

“I...what?” Tyne looked up at Bull with a shocked and confused look. “I...no...I mean...of course...not?”

 

“Right,” Bull nodded as he patted Tyne’s shoulder. “This is all about you and your ego.”

 

“Maker, Bull,” Tyne groaned and kicked a small cobblestone. “I don’t really need rational thought  _ now _ , of all times.”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it Boss,” Bull chuckled as he began walking again. “It’s just important you know  _ why _ you’re fighting this duel. Now, come on. You have a rich ass to kick the shit out of.”

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

As Tyne stepped into the central square, the Chantry bells rang one o'clock. 

 

“Ah! Inquisitor! Perfectly on time!” a swarthy dark haired man spun about. He wore a rich blue quilted doublet, which looked quite lovely. His cream colored pants stopped mid-calf, exposing a blue silk stocking. His shoes were a rich Antivan leather. 

 

_ Leiliana would probably gush over the shoes, _ the thought rolled through Tyne’s mind.  _ Stop it! And focus, you moron! _

 

The man flashed a wide toothy smile under his dark black moustache. His neatly trimmed beard came to a triangle point just under his chin. The hair on his head was as dark as his moustache, and cut close to his head. His eyes sparkled hazel eyes sparkled with mirth.

 

_ I hate mirth…. _

 

“Greetings, I am Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto of Antiva!” the man, Otranto bowed both deeply and dramatically before standing and gesturing grandly to the older gentleman behind him. “This is my second, Monsieur Delcarte Kelliog!”

 

Monsieur Kelliog was a pale and painfully thin man. His limbs were long and gangly, but he carried himself with a kind of whispy grace. He wore a black jacket and pants with the only hint of color being a small red handkerchief in his jacket’s breast pocket. 

 

Monsieur Kelliog also carried a pair of thin swords.

 

“Good day to you as well, sir,” Tyne bowed in return, to the man, if not quite so grandiose. “I am Lord Tyne Trevelyan of Ostwick, and behind me would be my second. The Iron Bull.”

 

“Howdy,” Bull smiled a waved the finger of one of his hands.

 

“Oh ho!” Otranto laughed. “My Lord Inquisitor was, perhaps worried I would have him waylaid or some such?”

 

Tyne chuckled as well, as he glanced back at Bull, then shrugged. “I would never question your honor in such a way, my Lord. It would be more accurate to say, that Bull is probably one of the few that  _ wouldn’t _ try to stop me. And, if it pleases you, I would  prefer to by here as Tyne, of House Trevelyan, and not as a member of the Inquisition.”

 

“Ha!” Otranto made a small bow. “My apologies, that was unworthy of us both. And it would indeed please me greatly to face a true rival. Now then, Monsieur Kelliog, if you please?”

 

The pale man dipped his head as he stepped forward to present the two swords to Bull, who, after a moment realized his role, and took them from the man.

 

Bull’s expression had turned to pure business as he looked over the blades, each in turn. He drew them from their sheaths, gave them both a small shake and a single swing before resheathing them and handing them back.

 

“Looks good Boss,” Bull grinned as he gave Tyne a thumbs up.

 

“Now then,” Otranto’s demeanor shifted, ever so slightly. His eyes became sharp, and his smile became wicked. He took the blades from Kelliog and tossed one to Tyne before taking his stance.

 

The man turned his left foot back as his right pushed out in front, his toe pointed at Tyne. Otranto’s weight shifted to his back foot as he swished his blade in a pair of circular cuts, one on either side, before pointing the tip of his sword at shoulder height, directly at Tyne.

 

“I hope this kind of elegant weapon is within your grasp, Lord Trevelyan,” a note of mocking carried in Ontranto’s voice. “I understand that you Marchers are just now learning to fight with things that are not rocks tied to sticks.”

 

Tyne looked at the Antivan with a raised brow before turning his attention to the weapon in his hands. He hefted it lightly with the tip pointed at the sky, before leaning it first left, then right. He tipped it forward, then back. 

 

All in all, it was actually a rather exceptional sword. The blade was long and thin, its edge razor sharp. The ivory grip was carved to look like a nude woman, her feet at the hilt, and her arms above her head, as if gripping the red stone that was the pommel. A brass cage acted as a hand guard and was made to look like twined rose vines.

 

And, surprisingly, the handle, though a bit weird, was actually quite comfortable in his grip.

 

_ Light blade...weight in the pommel… _ , Tyne considered.  _ Not what I am used to by any stretch.  _

 

“Ah, good sir, despite my handicap, I expect my time weilding a true man’s sword will prepare me fully to handle your tooth pick here,” Tyne quipped back as he held the blade before his eyes in a salute.

 

Otranto laughed, as did the small crowd that had gathered around the courtyard. A crowd that was slowly growing.

 

“Good man!” Otranto held his own blade in a salute, some of the humor back in his eyes.

 

Both men swished down their blades as they took their stances. Oranto returned to his previous position as Tyne flexed his shoulders once before shifting his feet even with each other, at shoulder width apart. He held the blade lightly in his left hand, down near his waist, his right hand open and loose at his side. 

 

“Terms, to be clear,” Tyne began as he slowly began to step to the right. “No weapons but our blades, our wits and our bodies, until surrender, yes?”

 

Otranto inclined his head slightly as he slowly circled to the left as well, his blade still pointed at Tyne. “That would be correct my Lord.”

 

Tyne took a single step forward and allowed the tip of his sword to tap lightly at the tip of Otranto’s.  “If I may be so bold, my Lord,” Tyne smirked. “Perhaps, considering the intimate nature of our current relationship, you would be willing to simply call me Tyne?”

 

Taking a step forward as well, Otranto let his blade roll away as Tyne’s touched it, before snapping it back to its position with a flick of the wrist. “Very good, Tyne, but then I will insist you call me Adorno as well.”

 

Another step in and Adorno’s blade flashed in arcs left then right. Tyne’s sword smoothly knocking the strikes aside with more strength than deftness. It brought a small smile to Adorno’s face.

 

“Nothing would please me more,” Tyne stepped heavily forward, his right foot stomping a bit harder than it really needed, seeing as how he was not wearing his usual heavy armor. He leaned out in a thrust that was easily side stepped.

 

“It’s a pity Lady Montilyet is not here to see me defeat you,” Adorno said with a chipper tone. His blade deftly pushed Tyne’s to the side as he counter attacked with a thrust of his own. A move that the Marcher was  _ just  _ able to evade. “I understand she is a great beauty.”

 

A dark frown crossed Tyne’s face as he moved forward boldly and slashed down hard at Adorno’s right shoulder.

 

Adorno stepped in, receiving the blow on his blade before pushing forward. The blades slid together locking at the hilts as the two men looked each other in the eye. 

 

“Although,” Adorno gave a grin and small wink. “It might be for the best. It might be a poor way to introduce myself to my bride to be.”

 

Tyne’s teeth ground together as he pulled himself in and heaved, shoving Adorno away, a good four feet. He felt a bit better when he saw the surprise in the Antivan’s eyes. 

 

“Not hardly,” Tyne took a deep breath before taking back up his stance. This time circling to the right. “I am not about to give up Josephine to anybody. Though I have to admit, you are even faster than I expected.”

 

Adorno nodded with a small smile. “And you are as monstrously strong as the tales say. However, I wonder if you have even given a thought to the fact that the betrothal was arranged by the Montilyet family? You would chance going against their wishes and the ill will it could bring you?”

 

His blade snapping straight, Adorno walked forward steadily, slapping aside Tyne’s clumsier attempts to disrupt his advance.

 

Tyne was unable to respond as he quickly stepped backwards. His hands came together on the hilt of the sword, attempting to give it the extra speed in needed to keep up with Adorno’s lightning sweeps.

 

Then, in desperation, Tyne caught Adorno’s blade and stepped in quickly, locking the blades.

 

“True, I would rather not make the family unhappy,” Tyne admitted, panting slightly. “But sometimes you don’t get everything you would like.”

 

Adorno appraised Tyne for a moment before giving his head a small shake. “Perhaps, after my wedding, and my wedding  _ night _ , I could arrange for you to wed the youngest sister? I understand she is pretty enough.”

 

Tyne’s  head jerked back suddenly, as if slapped. A moment Adorno smirked, then setting himself, he shoved Tyne back. Not nearly as far he had been moved, but enough that he was able to slip his blade under Tyne’s broken guard and sweep the tip of his blade at Tyne’s face.

 

In another move of seeming desperation, Tyne threw himself backward. The point of Adorno’s sword knicked across his right cheek, drawing a splash of blood.

 

Adorno then stepped back, swinging his sword down, hard, Tyne’s blood thrown off it.

 

“You have fought a brave duel, Tyne,” Adorno smiled. “First blood has been mine, and I belive you have seen the difference in our abilities. Would you not consider withdrawing now, before you are too gravely injured?”

 

Tyne touched his fingers to the cut on his face and looked at the blood on them for a moment. He then sighed and looked back to the Antivan. “You are right about a couple of things there, Adorno,” Tyne admitted as she stepped forward once more. “You did indeed get first blood. And I did, indeed see the difference in our abilities.”

 

Frowning, Adorno tilted his head slightly. “So then you intend to withdraw?”

 

A look of incredulousness cross Tynes face as he snorted. “Not hardly. You are ridiculously fast with your sword. And your strength is not to underestimated.”

 

“I thank you,” Adorno bowed  his head slightly.

 

“Of course,” Tyne shrugged lightly as he shifted his sword. “Always give credit where it is due, my father always said.” His hilt moved in closer to his body as Tyne allowed the blade to lean forward, it’s tip pointed directly at Adorno’s eye. His right hand moved back behind him as he held it flat like a blade. It was a much more solid stance that he had been using up to this point. “However, good Adorno, I feel as if I have a feel for the blade now.”

 

Adorno’s brows knit together as he stepped forward, his blade swung left, then right, a thrust, another thrust, a swing at the knees. 

 

Tyne danced lightly to the side, his sword moving in short, precise circle. Parrying left. He shifted his head just so, as Adorno’s blade trimmed a few errant hairs from his head. His body shifted a milimeter to the left, and Adorno’s blade thrust through air once, then twice.

 

His body twisted, Tyne leaned his blade inside Adorno’s guard cutting into the man’s shoulder. He then shifted his weight as he spun, rolling down Adorno’s arm, and slamming his shoulder into the Antivan’s chest, staggering him back.

 

With a hiss, Adorno, looked at his shoulder and rubbed at the place Tyne’s shoulder struck. “Very nice,” he said with a smirk. “I  _ did _ say blades, wits and  _ bodies _ . You caught me there. And for shame, hiding you talent like that!”

 

With a laugh, Tyne stepped back and shook his head. “I admit to playing a bit fast and loose with the spirit of the rules. However, I  _ am _ used to heavier swords, so it did, indeed take me a moment to get a true feel for this blade. Which is magnificent, I must say.”

 

“My bladesmith will be honored at your words,” Adorno chuckled as he brought his fist to his chest, over his heart. “I ignore your small indiscretion, if you would forgive my using a weapon I had, wrongfully, I see, believed that you would be at a disadvantage with.”

 

“Fair enough,” Tyne nodded. “You are a marvelous swordsman. Is there any chance I could convince you to, perhaps, work with the Inquisition?”

 

“Haha!” Adorno laughed heartily. “So you might slip in a little time as the Inquisitor after all, Tyne? I’ll tell you what. If you can tell me where you learned such interesting swordstyle, I would happily consider it.”

 

“I am embarrassed to admit it, but it is a style my family has been developing for a couple hundred years….” Tyne sighed deeply as he ran his free hand through his sweaty hair.

 

“Oh?” Adorno looked surprised. “I would think that would be something you would be proud of!”

 

“Eh...normally, yes, except this version is set on the principles of three rings. One within the other, narrowing down the area of defense until you have a small, but impenetrable defense,” Tyne shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s is designed around the idea of close combat, indoors and such. And….it is designed for….women….”

 

Adorno blinked for a moment before laughing. “My friend, that is nothing to be embarrassed about. Though I will assume you learned it in self defense. You probably have an older sister?”

 

His face blanched as Tyne sighed again. “Your perceptions are far too sharp Adorno. But-”

 

“Hey! Get to the fighting!”  a voice yelled from the crowd. “We want to see some blood!”

 

A chorus of cheers and jeers responded. “Yeah!” “Get him!” ‘Mama! We gonna see somebody die today?!”

 

That last one was a bit of a shocker. Seemed even the five year old girls in Val Royeax were bloodthirsty.

 

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Bull’s voice bellowed over the courtyard. Immediately, everybody went silent. All one could hear then was the gentle splashing of the fountain. Though even that seemed to be uncomfortable with the amount of sound it generated. 

 

“Uh, thanks, Bull,” Tyne shrugged before turning back to Adorno. “Shall we finish?”

 

“That would probably be for the best,” Adorno agreed as he lifted his sword to his usual stance. “One last strike?”

 

Tyne turned the right side of his body to face Adorno as he brought his sword up to this shoulder, its blade parallel along his body. “Winner take all.”

 

There was a slight pause in the air as even the gentle wind fell silent. Then, with a flash of silver steel the two men crossed the space between themselves, the clash….

 

“STOP!” a woman’s voice echoed across the courtyard. “Stop you fools!”

 

The two men froze, their blades but inches from each other as they looked at each other. Both men’s eyes widened as the slowly lowered their weapons and looked up.

 

“Move!” the voice cursed. “Move!” A figure was slipping through the crowd, roughly shoving people out of the way before she burst into the courtyard itself.

 

“What do you think you are doing?!” Josephine demanded thunderously.

 

“Ah you must be-” Adorno started as he took a step towards her, but stopped as the glare she gave him almost turned him to ice.

 

“You,” Josephine jabbed a finger toward Adorno. “Are next!”

 

Adorno did the most prudent thing. He nodded and stepped aside.

 

“Now! You!” Josephine’s full anger rounded on Tyne. “What do you think you are doing?!”

 

“Josie, I-”

 

“Why?!?” the Antivan diplomat cried as she  stomped up to Tyne, her fist waving in his face. “Why would you do this! Why would you put in danger, everything you have built!”

 

“Josie, I-”

 

“You are too important!” Josephine spun around, storming away. “Everybody needs you! You put in danger all that the Inquisition has done! Why?!”

 

“DAMMIT JOSEPHINE!” Tyne snarled, his own anger flaring as his arm reared back, then snapped forward, his sword arcing through the air to strike into the center of a chair in a small cafe to the side. “I did it because I  _ love _ you!”

 

Josephine froze, her eyes wide. “You...You...do?” she stammered.

 

“You do?” Adorno looked back and forth between the pair.

 

“Of course I do!” Tyne threw his hands into the air. “None of this matters to me, Josephine! I love you more than anything else in this world  _ or _ the next! When I fix the tear in the sky, it won’t be for these idiots here in Val Roeaux!”

 

“Hey!” a voice protested.

 

“I will do it for  _ you _ . Take me, leave me. All that I will do is for  _ you _ , and always will be!” Tyne’s arms dropped roughly to his sides as his anger left him. “All because I  _ love you _ .”

 

Josephine's hands hand drawn up together, under her chin as Tyne yelled his confessions to the world. Tears welled up in her eyes, the black globes shimmering. Then it was as if something snapped within her as she ran across the courtyard. She lept into Tyne’s arms, her lips coming to his, passionately.

 

Then, leaning back, tears rolling down her cheeks, Josephine laughed a loud, merry laugh. “I love you too! I do! So much!”

 

“You do?” Tyne couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face.

 

“You do?” Adorno gasped.

 

“I do, I do, I do, so much,” Josephine laughed again.

 

“Well then,” Adorno coughed roughly as he approached the pair. “I see that I am outmatched.”

 

“My Lord,” Josephine stepped away from Tyne as she wiped at her eyes.

 

Adorno just held up a hand and smiled. “I had believed it to be but a dalliance of passion and convenience. However, I could never hope to match what I can clearly see.” The Antivan stepped back and bowed deeply. “I, with much regret, and in the name of House Ortano, withdraw our offer of betrothal.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Josephine bowed in return, a small warm smile on her face.

 

“I...hope there are no hard feelings,” Tyne stepped forward and held out his hand awkwardly.

 

Adorno looked at the hand for a moment before grinning. He gripped Tyne’s hand, but then jerked him forward into a strong hug. “Of course not, my friend! I congratulate you on fighting for your True Love! There will be songs about this, I swear it!”

 

Then, stepping away from Tyne Adorno grinned again and nodded. “You will have to visit me in Antiva, yes? We will have a grand party for you! I hope I am invited to the wedding, eh?”

 

“Oh!” Tyne blinked, confused and startled. “Of...of course! And my offer still stands. We could always use support from talented people such as yourself.”

 

Slapping Tyne’s shoulder, Adorno nodded again. “Of course my friend! I shall send people to speak with your spymaster! And, it would honor me if you kept the sword. I shall keep its match. It shall be a symbol of our friendship!”

 

“Thank you, very much,” Tyne bowed, greatly touched. The gift of sharp things of destruction always had a special place in his heart.

 

Pulling Tyne into another rough hug, Adorno slapped him on the back before turning and striding away, pausing only once to give a little wave.

 

“Well,” Tyne turned back to Josie. “I seem to have gotten a fancey dueling scar. Thinking I’ll leave it. This is an important day. I can’t wait to tell the children about how I got it.”

 

Josie shook her head with a small smile as she ran a finger along his cheek, above the would. “Well, I didn’t think there was anything you could do that could make you even more dashing.”

 

“I’m sorry, Josie,” Tyne sighed as he took her hands into his. “This...this was not exactly the greatest of ideas. You aren’t a prize at a tourney to be won or lost. You are a person. I...just let it get to my head.”

 

“Mmm,” Josie nodded. “I do understand. And I am still quite angry. But...I love you you just the way you are.”

 

“Do you now?” Tyne raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well…” Josie looked up at his, through her lashes. “I would if you kissed me again.”

 

So he did.

 

\----------

\------------------

\-----------------------------

 

“Um...guys?” Bull asked. “When are we heading home?”

 

“Guys?”

 

“Ah, forget it….”


End file.
